


The games of make believe are at an end

by thp_cara (TheHolosexualPan)



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Claustrophobia, Demise Setting, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Panic Attacks, Permanent Death - Alternate Universe, Zouchies, heckies :P, sorry the ending is a bit rushed, that's gonna leave some mental scars for sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolosexualPan/pseuds/thp_cara
Summary: Most of the people who hadn't joined the game had fled the moment the demised had turned on them, despite everything, but Zedaph had decided to stay, if only to watch over his lovers, to make sure they are alright, or well,relativelyalright.
Relationships: zedaph/impulse/tango
Comments: 13
Kudos: 88





	The games of make believe are at an end

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aaron's Hermitcraft Drabble Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714275) by [AaronAmpora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaronAmpora/pseuds/AaronAmpora). 



> Please, _please_ heed the warnings. This is a dark fic with a happy ending, but it reaches some pretty terrifying lows.

The storm has been brewing for days now, the winds growing cold as the darkness never seems to wane, the clouds only boiling into a thicker mess of shadow and spilled ink the more time passes. Rain falls sometimes, too, very early in the morning, when whatever gray light manages to pass through the clouds is nearly absent, or in the late evenings, the water droplets freezing over in their ascent or mixing in with the fog that has settled over the sprawling forests and fields like a never ending spider’s web. But this isn’t the sort of weather that one would measure in downpour, no, this a storm that one can feel in the trembling of the leaves that still cling to the almost barren trees, this is a storm that one can hear in the rumbling thunder of the lightning that lights up the valleys surrounding Hermitville in flashes of blinding white, this is a storm that, for all its almost morbid beauty, spells danger for all those who happen to be caught in it, whether amongst its electric clouds or beneath its roiling seas.

But Tango isn’t worried about a little zap of electricity.

Tango has a goal and, though it is quite obvious given the breakneck speed at which he is flying, rocket after rocket being fired behind him in an almost continuous flow, and it _shows_ in the blank expression he is wearing, red eyes almost shining against his gray skin, there’s few things he wouldn’t do to _accomplish_ said goal.

It’s almost like a whisper in his ear, telling him what he has to do and _who_ he has to find, and with only two - no, _three_ more people still alive, the only ones who have remained in the area instead of going into hiding, that is, the choice between who to find next is not a complicated one. Tango fires another rocket and thunder booms somewhere to his left. To his right, just behind him, Impulse is flying in a similar manner, though even Tango can tell that Impulse is somehow more calculating like this, sure of precisely where he should go next, his grey gaze tracing the dark, spike-speckled ocean beneath them. He knows exactly where he is going and Tango lets himself soar for a few seconds, allowing Impulse to take the lead, if only to admire the firm silhouette his body paints against the dark clouds.

“Sure he’ll be here?”, Tango asks and Impulse glances at him from over his shoulder, a smile slowly forming on his face. That’s answer enough.

But the closer they get to the distinct shape of the ice aquarium, one which Tango can make out even from this height, the more _distorted_ his thoughts become. Tango shakes his head as they circle above the thin glacier floating just next to the small base, but it doesn’t do much to help clear his mind. Instead, there’s a growing feeling of excitement, mixed with something darker that envelops him, that makes him grin as he and Impulse look at each other as they wait, taking a moment before entering the base, that makes something deep inside his consciousness shift, just barely. Tango ignores it because, finally, _finally,_ they’ll get him.

He had been hiding for so long, not running, _never_ running, not from Tango and Impulse, but finally, he’d given his position away. A communicator glitch is all it had taken, in the end, to compromise his foolish attempts at keeping himself veiled from the ones who just want what is best for him, and Tango couldn’t have been happier when he and Impulse had managed to trace the signal, knowing a moment like this will come, one that will bring all three of them together again, just how they always have been, how they always should be. How they always _will_ be, once they're done.

Impulse lays a hand on his shoulder and Tango knows, he can guess, at the very least, that the same gleeful glint that he sees in Impulse’s colourless eyes is reflected in his own. 

“Let’s finish this”, Impulse says in a low voice and, before they even have time to drop into the frozen base, the ice above them breaks and, in a flurry of rockets, water and panic, Zedaph flies right out, chancing one look back at Impulse and Tango before using more rockets to put as much distance between them as possible. Tango almost wants to growl and he’s already reaching for his bow, focusing on the unsteady trajectory Zedaph follows in his flight, but Impulse’s hand is still on his shoulder and Impulse holds him back, the grip light, but decisive. 

“I can get him, I _know_ I can, just let me-”, Tango tries, anger clearly visible in the cut-off way his words come out, but Impulse has another rocket in his hand, his elytra wings flaring behind him and the spark of _something_ in his face holds Tango’s curiosity.

“Maybe, but I have another idea”, Impulse finally lets go of him, taking off in a way that’s almost elegant, and Tango follows suit as Impulse flies off in the same direction Zedaph taken, not going at full speed, but remaining on Zedaph’s trail, far back enough to not be seen, but close enough to keep an eye on where he is going.

“Do you?”, Tango asks as the lightning strikes above them, the boom of it loud enough to make his teeth clatter, but Impulse continues flying, still keeping the same leisurely pace, eyes fixed ahead with an almost eerie focus. Tango can't help but glance at the small shape that flies a few hundred block before them, losing and gaining altitude in a way that seems too unpredictable to be intentional, even for someone like Zedaph. As though he were _afraid_ .   
“Let’s bring him to the graves.”

And, just like that, it _clicks._

Tango can feel the grin renew itself on his face, as the prospect of bringing Zedaph to where all the demised gather settles, almost like a bitter taste that, seemingly, gets sweeter the more he thinks about. It almost feels unnatural, the need to see the life draining out of pretty purple eyes, the need to see Zedaph choke on a breath, his _last_ breath, while he and Impulse watch, the need to have Zedaph join them at last, and something inside Tango struggles against him as images of blank eyes, of grey skin and of bloodstained clothing are summoned before his eyes, but Tango can only feel his grin sharpen at all of these images, because it all means one thing in the end.

All three of them will be together again.

It’s _thrilling._

* * *

His lungs are burning with exertion, the cold wind exacerbating the ache of his frozen stiff fingers and the sting against his face as he flies as fast as he can, mind running in circles, all thoughts other than the need to flee getting pushed to the wayside. Zedaph squints against the currents. He can feel tears gathering in his eyes, though he isn't sure if it's from the cold hitting him just so or the pain wrenching his heart open, shattering whatever feeling of safety Zedaph had managed to build up in these last few weeks 

_You should have left and remained gone_ , he chides himself and gasps when the rocket in his grasp almost slips from his hand, so he quickly launches it instead, daring one look over his shoulder at his pursuers, which, last time Zedaph had checked, were but little blurs in the distance, following him on steady wings and, while Zedaph would normally admire how well they fly, especially when compared to his own clumsy technique, the dread is only mounting higher, now, because Impulse and Tango aren't just flying to and fro between projects this time, no, they're after _him._

But they're not fully there anymore, not in the way Zedaph knows them.

Zedaph snaps his head back to face the open sky and ocean ahead of him, making sure he'll hit nothing as he does a double take, eyes wide with fear, a cold sweat gathering over his forehead, but he can't see either of them behind him anymore.

To hope that they'd encountered an obstacle that had managed to hinder them enough to allow him to escape seems almost cruel to Zedaph, despite everything, but he isn't sure if anything less than a mountain to the face would be able to stop them. After all, they're hunting him down for one thing and one thing only: to kill him. Zedaph shudders and shoots another couple of rockets, gaining some altitude as well, looking down in every direction, but he can't see them.

A part of him, one that sparks guilt and remorse within the ashes of Zedaph's heart like a dark flame, ready to consume him whole, is _relieved_ at the prospect, but another part of Zedaph can't help but worry. Tango and Impulse are already part of the dead team, so, as far as Zedaph knows from his own observations and Wels' notes on the demised that they'd exchanged before Zedaph decided to come back here, they should be able to come back from anything, so long as the game lasts.

Zedaph doesn't have that ability.

He starts inching further through the air, not using his rockets just yet, Zedaph's hearing focused on any suspicious sounds at all other than the air cutting itself against the edges of his elytra’s wings, and, just as Zedaph is about to launch another rocket to move himself forward again, he hears a noise from above.

It's so soft that Zedaph almost allows his imagination to claim it as just another paranoid illusion, but Zedaph knows better. He doesn't wait for the sound, the slightest flutter of the lithe material of wings slicing through the wind, barely even audible, to echo around him again, because it _does_ , and instead dives forward, heading towards the sea at a dangerous speed, eyes wide and his heart beating almost as fast as he himself is flying, but Zedaph doesn't try his luck with looking above him because he knows that, if that had been either Tango or Impulse, then Zedaph is done for if he wastes even a _second_ , so he just angles his body and braces for impact with the water, hoping the enchanted diamond armour will be of some help with protecting him against the hard hit that his very squishy, very breakable body will will experience as he plunges into the cold water.

And so, when a form splashes out of the water from beneath the waves, Impulse's hair darkened from a chestnut brown to a cold gray, some of the wet strands glued to his forehead, hanging over lifeless eyes, Zedaph let's out a terrified scream and tries to launch a rocket to keep himself moving, but, and this time he does look up, _he has no escape route that way anymore_ , simply launching himself up or diving down no longer an option as Impulse keeps flying below him and Tango steadily moves overhead in his flight.

And yet, they don’t immediately come after him.

Zedaph launches himself forwards with a tentative rocket, but they don’t use his wobbly flight against him, instead, Tango and Impulse keep flying above and, respectively below him, cutting Zedaph off when he tries to take a hard right, which almost toples him out of the sky, but they always return to their previous flight positions, almost as if they were _guiding_ him somewhere. 

Terror and something much less intense, an underlying feeling, which smolders just beneath his panic, something sadder, encompass Zedaph as he realises this, as he comes to the conclusion that they’ve got him, that they won’t let him go. But he can’t let this happen. Zedaph knows, he’s read about it, damn it all, he’s read about the overwhelming wish the demised experience when it comes to having more people join their “team”, but whatever Impulse and Tango think will happen to Zedaph if they get to him, _it won’t._ Zedaph never joined the game, its magic won’t work on him.

And so, in a last attempt at a seemingly impossible escape, Zedaph eyes Tango above him, eerie red meeting misty purple and shoots about a dozen rockets up, hoping against all hope that this will be a surprising enough move to override Tango’s reflexes and, though Zedaph has his eyes closed, the wind caused by his speed as his wings shoot him further up too cold to bear, too sharp to simply blink against, little particles of frost mixed in with the chill, he can still _feel_ the graze of a hand as fingers _barely_ miss catching him by the wrist.

“Zed”, he can hear below him as he heads for the clouds, the voice so cold and so harsh that Zedaph almost doesn’t recognise it as Impulse’s, but he can’t stop, he has to keep going. Zedaph shivers as the temperature drops even further, as he breaks through the clouds, finally flinching and opening his eyes when lightning strikes, its shattered drum of thunder following soon after. Zedaph looks around him almost desperately, but the indistinct gray shapes all around him are almost maddening in the way they make any direction look the same and, with his elytra open and slowing his descent, he almost can’t tell which way is up anymore. The air is thinner, here, and Zedaph knows he can’t stay hidden amongst the clouds for long, fingers, clenched tight against another rocket as he launches it, beginning to feel weaker and weaker by the second. Zedaph flies forward in a clumsy manner, almost falling straight out of the sky as the clouds flash in front of his eyes, the electricity making his ears buzz.  
 _This is not good_ , Zedaph thinks, desperation clawing its way up his throat, but he has to go on, has to continue flying. There’s no telling whether or not Impulse and Tango will have an easier time navigating through the storm clouds, whether they’ll be able to find him and finally accomplish their goal, but if there’s one thing Zedaph knows, it’s that he _can’t_ let that happen.

Minutes pass by with only the explosions of electricity crackling around Zedaph at random intervals filling the unsettling silence and Zedaph still keeps flying, but he is getting tired, his whole body not taking the constant tension too well, his lungs constricting with the pressure in an uncomfortable way and Zedaph knows it’s time to fly back down, despite the danger, because he will _definitely_ die if he keeps flying among the thunderclouds, but if his plan works, he might just be able to run to one of his many bases once he leaves the cover of the electric mass of dark mist, and Zedaph cannot _not_ take the chance. Zedaph hopes that he's managed to lose Tango and Impulse with his mad dash through the clouds, but he has to take the risk anyways.

With a sharp exhale, Zedaph lets himself fall.

The view that forms before his very eyes as he leaves the clouds behind is one of familiar spruce trees, a few ridiculously tall buildings and a sea of beautifully shaped rustic roofs, the wet air having dampened the whole village into a darker version of itself, almost creepy in its quiet, undisturbed peace.

The silence makes Zedaph look around him, paranoia reaching new heights as he tries to slow himself down once he notices the ground approaching at a velocity too high to be comfortable, but he almost stumbles when, after another lightning strike, two dark spots to Zedaph’s right break free of the clouds and he _knows_ it’s them.

Zedaph abandons the shaky landing that he’d been going for and fumbles as he reaches for another rocket in his pack, his heart dropping as his fingers clamp around his last one. He’s so close to the ground, that, at this point, Zedaph can count the wooden beams of each house, each roof tile in its patterned glory, and he’s not good enough a flyer to maneuver between this many obstacles, especially when they are placed as close together as the Hermitville houses are.

Zedaph nearly sobs as he uses his last rocket, going _up_ , picking up on the sound of more rockets being fired behind him by Tango and Impulse and everything is moving so fast that, when Zedaph crashes into the solid wing of the beast Grian had spent hours upon hours working on, his world begins fading from Zedaph’s mind before he even has time to process that he’s _failed_.

He hears the crash and the broken sound if his armour falling apart before he feels it, the deafening sound of blood thrumming in his ears only eclipsed by the crack of his body hitting the carefully sculpted wing of the dragon, and then Zedaph’s whole body goes numb, his nerves buzzing faintly, as though they were trying to pick up the sensation of such immense pain, but failing miserably. Zedaph falls and, before his vision goes completely dark, two figures fly downwards, their hands outstretched, as though to reach out for him. 

He manages one last, pained cry and then he's out.

* * *

They manage to catch him just in time, Tango, faster at flying than Impulse himself is, if a bit less precise, snatching Zedaph from his free fall, cradling him against his chest as he allows his wings to spread to slow their fall. Impulse grabs Tango too, shooting a few rockets up to redirect the momentum and, slowly, they make their way to the path beneath their feet, landing with the barest of stumbles. Impulse lets go of Tango, for the most part, but keeps an arm around his waist and they both look at the crumpled form still held by Tango. 

Impulse feels a weird combination of relief and a damp sort of anger in his chest as, in a moment of clarity, he realises what they’d just been about to let happen to their lover.

“Is he… Impulse, is he-”, Tango mumbles, disbelief colouring his tone, red eyes switching between looking into Impulse’s own eyes and Zedaph’s closed ones, but Impulse shakes his head. A buzz is starting to fill his ears again and Impulse tries to ignore it, but it’s getting _louder_.

“No, look… He’s still breathing”, Impulse whispers as a small drop of cold water hits his cheek, followed by another, and then another, and soon enough, there’s a light drizzle falling around them.Tango’s eyes glaze over as he keeps looking at Zedaph and Impulse reaches forward to caress a cold cheek, but Zedaph doesn’t react, despite his chest still moving up and down, even if the movement seems restricted. Tango leans into him and Impulse tightens his hold around him, his face slowly blanking as thoughts that, at first, don’t even seem like his own, begin swirling in his head.

And they both realise it at the same time, looking at one another with dark, but almost emotionless expressions.

They begin walking towards the lair of the demised, the rain falling heavier and heavier around them with each step they take, like a freezing curtain of dark gray water turning the whole landscape into a muted, nightmarish version of itself, lightning still flashing across the sky periodically, illuminating Zedaph’s pale face where it dangles over the crook of Tango’s arm. Something within Impulse purrs at the plan quickly taking shape in his mind, but something _different_ also struggles against it. He ignores the latter.

They can’t hurt him, not directly, they never _could_ and they never _will_ , but maybe there’s another way to help Zedaph join them, something that will finally bring them together.

* * *

The world fades back in slowly, first the swinging movement, his body being rocked to and fro, as though he were nothing more than a babe and weighed just as much, and it feels nice, at first, it soothes him, making it harder for Zedaph to emerge from the warm cocoon of unconsciousness, but then the smells hit him, rainwater and mud, which soon gets accompanied by the pitter patter of the downpour. Slowly, very slowly, because it almost seems like an impossible task at the moment with the heaviness settled over his limbs, Zedaph opens his eyes as well, cracking one open first, his vision filled with grey fabric. He frowns slightly, nose twitching at both the humidity in the air and the confusing sight that he is confronted with, but Zedaph just keeps blinking sluggishly as the rest of his senses return to him. He figures that someone is holding him, but their arms are worryingly cold and Zedaph almost wants to ask them if they are alright, but then the _pain_ hits him.

It is an all-encompassing sort of sensation, starting at the side of his neck and burning down his left arm, spreading throughout his body like shocks of electricity. His ankle doesn’t sit right either, Zedaph registers, too tired, too _overwhelmed_ to even react to the pain in a physical way for a few seconds.

But the person carrying him notices that he is awake and lets out a light chuckle, deep and relieved, and Zedaph is _terrified._

 _Tango_ is holding him and, the pain makes him jolt as he tries, Zedaph turns his head to the side, catching Impulse’s profile, walking next to Tango with a casual gait. Zedaph comes to the devastating conclusion that they caught him and he feels like crying, even if his gift just won't react, too tired, too pained to move.

He tries, anyway, but even with the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream at the realisation and numbing his pain sensors, Zedaph barely manages to squirm, his muscles feeling as though they’d been bruised from the inside. As he wonders what had happened, wincing and pushing his blunt nails into Tango’s arms as best as he can through his sleeves, it all comes crashing down on him: being found, the chase, the fall.

“N-no...”, Zedaph whimpers, but Tango’s hold tightens on him as he and Impulse slow down and, eventually, stop. They stare at him with matching wide, joyful smiles that look _so_ similar to the ones Zedaph loves staring at and being the cause off, but they’re _wrong,_ somehow, twisted in a way that makes the pain in his heart rival the aches of his body, and Zedaph starts squirming even harder.

“Hey, now”, Impulse cooes at him, voice soft, but a sharp edge hidden just beneath the niceties, because it’s what he’s seen the game do, no matter how kind a person used to be, its magic will turn them _monstrous_ , and Zedaph’s breathing picks up as Impulse continues, “Don’t panic, we're here, Zed.”

It’s almost ironic, because Zedaph is panicking _precisely_ because they are here, but he cannot find the strength to pull away and he is hurting and his eyes are stinging and-

“You’ll join us soon, Zed, don’t worry”, Tango says, this time, and Zedaph finally dares to look around, the pain in is neck making it feel as though thousands of tiny needles are pushing directly into his spine, but he grits his teeth because he _needs_ to know where they are taking him in order to escape. Zedaph isn’t one to give up easily.

They aren’t all too far from Hermitville, the silhouettes of the build battle’s structures still looming in the horizon, but this isn’t a place Zedaph has ever seen or been to before, at least not in the state it is in at the moment. He squints and twitches as Tango begins walking again, Impulse jogging ahead, seeming almost impatient now, but Zedaph continues analysing his surroundings as best as he can, tears springing to his eyes as he spots the old, decrepit buildings further away, their walls’ collapsed, debris littered around them, and the-

 _The graves_. 

Zedaph’s struggling begins anew, this time fueled by desperation as they approach one of the empty holes in the ground, the pile of dirt and the carved out stone casket next to it dark and shining with rainwater, some mold having climbed onto the top of the casket, a stain of dark green against unmoving gray, but Tango grabs his arm, the injured one, and _twists_.

Zedaph’s mouth opens for a scream, but no sound comes out. His world falters before his eyes, the edges of it blurred by the sudden explosion of pain his body is hit with. All of his muscles tense up and, as Tango fingers don’t leave his elbow, keeping his arm at an unnatural angle, Zedaph doesn’t dare move, an almost inaudible whine filling the air as Zedaph attempts to stop his damn _breathing_ , if only to relieve some of the pain.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, Zed”, Tango smirks, going for a comforting tone, but it is a mockery of the sweetness Zedaph _knows_ Tango is capable of, “We’re _helping_ you.We’ll all be together now...”

They stop in front of the dug up grave and Zedaph wants to start trying to escape again, but Impulse jonis them again, one hand trailing Zedaph’s neck, pushing ever so slightly against a sore spot on the side of his neck. Zedaph bites his lip, then, so hard that he tastes blood, heeding the warning to _not move that_ remains unspoken.

That is, until Tango begins lowering him into the stone casket.

“No, p-please, I won’t-”, Zedaph tries to yell, but his voice comes out as a croaked out squeak, his throat hurting as much as his neck is.

“This is for your own good, Zed”, Impulse chides him, frowning as he catches a flailing limb and keeps it steady with a firm grip, Tango doing the same, the two of them holding him down and positioning him in the casket.   
Zedaph kicks out, hoping to use his sudden, panic-induced violence as a distraction, at least, in order to run away, but his ankle is caught by Tango and he can feel it as he grinds his thumb against the bones there, bringing already dislocated joints to their breaking point. Zedaph sobs and his whole body twitches, but soon, they have a hold on him, keeping him down as Zedaph breathes heavily, snot and tears running down his face as he _begs_.

“I won’t- I _can’t_ j-join you! I’m not…”, Zedaph has to gasp, his face pinched into an expression of pure agony as the hands around his _shattered_ bones push him down further, the cold, unforgiving stone underneath digging into his back, but Zedaph has to try to get them, no matter how many times he has to say it in their faces, “I’m not part of the game!”

Impulse tilts his head, before he looks to Tango and they seem to have a silent conversation, because the next thing Zedaph knows, Tango is the only one holding him down, Impulse having disappeared somewhere obscured by the ledges of the casket from Zedaph’s view.

Tango leans his head in the casket, bringing their foreheads together and he is so _cold_ , but Zedaph keeps struggling even as Tango whispers:

“No more excuses, Zed.”

A shadow falls over them and it takes Zedaph a few seconds to realise that the stone lid is being held up by Impulse in a strong grip, just above Zedaph’s restless form. Zedaph’s eyes widen and everything around him seems to stop, the rain becomes a distant thing, the world just background noise to the fear that overtakes Zedaph.

Tango begins to pull away and, ironically enough, it is Zedaph who attempts to pull Tango closer this time, because Zedaph knows that once Tango is no longer hovering above him, once the lid is in place, there will be no more escaping.

“You’re going to kill me”, Zedaph gasps between sobs, terror gripping his heart like an unforgiving vice, its thorns burying themselves deep into the spots that Zedaph used to feel light up with love for his boyfriends, “You’re going to kill me and I won’t come b-back.”

_But they don’t listen._

Zedaph screams and pushes with all his might against the lid that gets lowered on top of his casket, his arm throbbing in pain, his spine arching uncomfortably and bringing with it the sort of ache that makes Zedaph want to curl up in a tight little ball and cry, _but he can’t._

The lid falls into place with a _thump_ , leaving Zedaph in complete darkness, his hands still pushing against the stone surface that sits too close to his face, because he feels like he can't breathe, he feels like he is _dying_ already.

Then the casket trembles as it is moved. Zedaph’s sobs get caught in his throat as _something happens_ , but then…

Then the distinct sounds of dirt hitting stone fill his ears and Zedaph _screams_.

He screams and he buries his nails into the stone surface as more and more dirt gets piled on top of his, on top of-

 _On top of his_ **_grave._**

He scratches at the lid, uselessly, his nails already hurting from the rough surface splintering them, but Zedaph can’t feel anything except for the urgency that fills his lungs, his very being. There's not enough air in this cramped space to breathe in, not enough space to _survive_ in.

And so Zedaph keeps screaming, pleading in the hopes that his two demised lovers would hear him, that hearing his anguish might lend them at least a fraction of doubt, of second thought.

But then, through the layers of dirt and through the stone lid of his casket, Zedaph can make out the vaguest sounds of a conversation, followed by rockets being fired.

 _They left_.

Zedaph freezes, 

_They left him here all alone_.

Zedaph gives one more shove against the stone barrier between himself and the outside world, between salvation and damnation, between his own survival or his _death_ , but it does nothing, it does _nothing_ and Zedaph can feel the hopelessness, finally, seep in.

 _He’s going to die here_.

* * *

Zedaph thinks it might have been days, or weeks, even if his fuzzy brain attempts to tell him that he would have already suffocated, had he actually been underground for that long, but Zedaph’s thoughts haven't made sense in a while now, why should they start again now?

He raises his hands to his chest, palms flat against the lid, his nail beds raw and bloody from trying to claw his way to freedom, and pushes.

Nothing happens. Zedaph’s heart keeps slowing down, his whole body filled with a sort of lethargy that makes his eyes slip shut, the dried tear tracks on his face long forgotten, the hours of yelling and crying and begging and _pain_ just a drop of ink in the murky sea of numbness that Zedaph feels right now.

He blinks.

They won’t come for him, is the realisation that Zedaph slowly, painfully, reaches, knowing full well that, with the game still going on, there’s barely any trace of the men he loves left in Tango and Impulse, knowing fully well that, once this is all over, they’ll find him.

_He shouldn't have returned, he should have fled like everyone else, without looking back._

Zedaph’s slow heart breaks at the thought.

To no one in particular, he mumbles something, dried lips stretched in the faintest of smiles, his heavy eyes closing for what may be the last time.

“I still love you…"

Zedap lets out a slow exhale, the warm air, if it could still be called that, saturated by Zedaph's own exhales as it is, inside his resting place almost a pleasant contrast against the cold of the stone underneath him, around him, above him, the stone cage that _surrounds_ Zedaph. His aches and pains have started to go numb, but maybe that’s just because his brain has started shutting down, Zedaph muses.

He allows sleep to take him, opening its arms for something darker than that.

* * *

A ray of sunlight falls across unmoving features as they slide the casket’s lid off, his skin pale, his lips cracked and bloodstained, his eyes sunken in, making his close-eyed expression that much eerier. 

_But his chest is still moving._

  
He is still breathing, five hours later, after a deadly prank had finally led to the end of the game, after they'd regained their own minds, after having been buried _alive_ by the people who he used to tell he would trust with his _life._

_But he is still alive._

* * *

The first thing Zedaph registers upon coming to is that he actually _wakes up._

There’s a thick layer of fog hanging over his every thought, but Zedaph still manages to realise one thing. He’s not dead.

He takes a deep breath in, he feels his heart _ease up_ as his senses finally come back to him. Hearing is the first to return and Zedaph thinks he can distinguish his own breathing, but his confusion makes it a bit harder to say for sure, followed by eyesight, a dark room and its spruce plank ceiling that he is staring up at barely distinguishable from the darkness that only night time could possibly provide, followed by the sensation of restraint.

It’s not the heavy feeling of hands holding him down and twisting Zedaph at the joints and it’s not the cold embrace of being carried to his own death by one of the loves of his life, combined with the _hurt_ both those images bring him, no, it is a warm arm thrown over his waist, a stray leg tangled amongst his own and a hand resting where his heart beats slowly inside his chest, just over his clothes. Zedaph tries to get up, but his limbs are too weak to actually push against the people holding him close, and Zedaph tries to speak, then.

Nothing comes out. 

He gasps, eyebrows drawn up and eyes wide open, his shoulders trembling as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, but his voice just won’t work.

He eyes everything around him again, moving his head, not without a due amount of dull pain, to the left and to the right, the panic obvious in the jankiness of the motions. Zedaph almost jumps as he notices Impulse and Tango laying next to him on either side, nestled in, and Zedaph only now realises this, a villager’s bed, because his heart is suddenly kicking into overdrive with the spike in anxiety caused by his own observations.

The arm around his waist tightens, the hand over his heart twitching, and Zedaph finally manages to make a sound, a terrified little sob pushing past his lips, echoing into the room and waking up its remaining sleeping tenants.

 _They’re going to- Not again, I can’t-_ **_I can’t_ ** , Zedaph’s thoughts parrot each other, bringing him further and further down the spiral of panic and fear. He feels paralysed, feels the way his lungs just won’t allow him enough air, the way his brain won’t work like it should, feels as though, any second now, they will just, no, they have _already_ caught him again and there’s nothing-   
Zedaph can’t-

Impulse brings him back with a whispered call of his name and Zedaph breaks down as he hears it, ceasing his struggling, tears rolling down his cheeks as he realises that _this, right_ _here, is how Impulse_ usually sounds, warm and kind and _caring_ , even if there’s a hint of guilt hiding in the words he says.

“Zed, you’re... You’re awake”, Impulse gasps and, it apparently stirs Tango as well, because, in front of him, the figure shifts, raising his arm and the blanket he’s claimed for himself and bringing Zedaph into the warm space under it. Zedaph doesn’t want to attest to how instantly that calms him down, especially as Impulse pulls himself forward, joining Zedaph and Tango in the somewhat reluctant hug, _because something inside Zedaph still wants to panic, it tells him to flee and he can’t, he can't move, he can't, he can't, he_ **_can’t_ ** _-_

Tango shifts so that his head rests in the crook of Zedaph’s neck, making sure to move so gently that Zedaph barely even feels the twinge of pain shooting through is body, his muscles still aching, as he does so, and, in that moment, that simple gesture helps Zedaph take a second to breathe, the wheezing sound of it making him cringe. The hand on his chest turns into a fist, gripping the material of a shirt that Zedaph recognises as not his own and, given past experiences and its looseness, he can tell it could be either of his boyfriends’. He sighs, shakily, as Impulse wraps both arms around his waist, careful not to jostle him too much, but oddly enough, there’s not a lot of pain in his spine, considering how agonising it had been when-  
Zedaph shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry...”, Impulse whispers against the back of Zedaph’s neck, voice so sorrowful that it breaks Zedaph’s already crumbled heart, but before he can get out a reply, reassuring Impulse that none of this had been done with intent, none of this was either of their faults, Tango murmurs something against his skin, his fingers beginning to shake where they hold Zedaph.

“We should have… We should have fought back, _Gods_ , we almost-”, and he chokes on a sob, the sound of it making Zedaph want to wrap him up in his arms and never let go, but they have that part covered, because, with as much gentleness as they can muster, their hug tightens around him even more. Zedaph feels tears spring to his own eyes once more, twisting his features as he bites his lip, trying to hold a sob in, but something within him, something that almost feels like hope, almost feels like _safety_ , begins ever so slowly unfurling and binding his heart back together. It doesn’t heal the cracks left between the pieces, but it brings them together and, just for a moment, Zedaph feels almost whole again.

“I… I’m still here”, Zedaph says, softly, voice hoarse and as weak as the rest of his body feels, but he closes his eyes and the corners of his lips pull up into a small smile, soft and trembling, given the… _Everything_ that has happened. He doesn’t want to dwell on the could have’s and should have’s because he knows now is not the time, knows that it would just send him back to a dark place, where he plummets between betrayal and death, between- 

No, all Zedaph needs, in this very moment, is this. The hug, the affection, _the normality_.

“I’m here and I… I love you”, Zedaph says with the smallest voice he’s ever heard himself use, and he pours all of his love, all of his _breath_ into these words, because he wants them to mean something to his lovers the same way they mean something to _him_ , keeping him tethered to the present just as much as Impulse and Tango are by just existing as they used to do before the wretched game.   
And if that night is spent bearing the tiring effects of health potions while all three of them sit in a borrowed bed, Impulse and Tango comforting Zedaph as best as they can and Zedaph reassuring them that he doesn’t blame them, he never would, not for this, if Zedaph falls asleep in their arms, surrounded by warmth and happiness and protection, if nightmares of grey faces and cold hands wake him up with tears streaming down his face, if Zedaph tries to mend what he knows will take a lot longer to fix while reassuring himself that he is safe with them, he can _trust_ them, if all three of them hold each other through sobs and fear and hurt, then that is something for Zedaph, Impulse and Tango to know and to keep hold of, the same way the would of something precious, as Zedaph’s mind wreaks havoc upon his poor overused and exhausted emotions. But they are together, and not in the twisted way the game had intended, and _that is enough_.

* * *

And so life goes on, slowly, gently putting itself back together within days, weeks, _months_ , but Zedaph has something to hold onto now, he has his hope and his lovers with him, he has the things he holds dearest, and that is all he needs to fight off the terror that still grips him whenever it gets too dark, whenever the room smells like wet stone and upturned earth, whenever he feels hands on him when he doesn’t expect it.

But Zedaph feels hopeful and loved and _alive_ , and that is enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Why, _yes_ , I do cope by hurting my projection character. Whatchu gonna do about it?  
> Also,this is totally inspired by Aaron's "Join us Zedaph" drabble :>


End file.
